


same old, same old

by pxint



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Childhood Friends, M/M, just not with jt!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxint/pseuds/pxint
Summary: JT is Morgan’s older brother.Tyson doesn’t talk to him much. Or ever.





	same old, same old

**Author's Note:**

> me loving morgan compher for 3.5k: the fic

Tyson will play hockey out on the open road sometimes. He lives on a fairly empty street, where most of his neighbours are elderly citizens with modest gardens and small, scruffy dogs. 

He’s got enough space to set up a whole street hockey tournament on the road, there just aren’t many kids that live close to him who’d be interested. Kids that play hockey, at least.

He’s friends with Morgan Compher, though. The girl who lives next to him, the one whose eyes glow at the mention of hockey. Tyson talks to her about playing, and they sit out on his front steps trading hockey cards. Tyson offers getting in net just so Morgan can blaze a few pucks by him. 

He’s thirteen and Morgan is right around there. Her younger sister, Jesse, will sit on the grass and watch with this silent awe, sometimes. 

It’s fun. The Comphers are fun. Tyson doesn’t know much about the family besides the fact that their mother grows tomatoes in her garden and their father spends hours polishing and polishing and polishing their cars. 

But. Tyson likes the hockey aspect. 

-

He’s not much older the first time he feels this fuzzy weirdness in his chest. It’s not when he looks at Morgan or Jesse, it’s weird — it’s. 

JT, Tyson thinks, carries a cardboard box out front and hands it to Morgan, who happily takes it from him. It’s full of old hockey gear. Gloves and helmets and sticks. There’s a brand new ball in there somewhere, too. 

Morgan says, “thank god, our stuff sucks.” 

Tyson stares and stares and JT offers him a friendly smile. He’s older. Highschool, maybe. He’s got hair like a wildfire, it’s so, so orange. Tyson doesn’t say a word about it. 

Morgan harshly taps the blade of her stick against the pavement and tells Tyson, “grab whatever. Time to break this all in.”

-

JT is Morgan’s older brother and he’s _older_ , but Tyson has no idea where exactly that lies. 

He doesn’t talk to him much, or ever. Sometimes he’ll be out front when he sees JT get in his car and drive off. Or when he gets back home. There’s always these soft expressions on his face. Always leisurely. 

Tyson’s breathes, in and out, and he’ll catch JT’s gaze sometimes. From his front steps, or his driveway, and he’ll immediately look away. 

JT’s friendly. He’s kind. He’s an older brother, Tyson should expect as much. 

-

It hits him when he turns sixteen. 

It’s mid-March, the leaves on the trees are just beginning to bud, and there’s still the slightest bit of snow on the ground. They play street hockey anyways, him and Morgan. 

It’s a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad, because his foot hits the thinnest sheet of ice and he goes down _hard_. 

It’s just a wound on his knee, right where his shorts end, and Morgan says, “that’s why you don’t wear shorts when it’s still _freezing_ out.” 

She’s trying to joke about it, Tyson can tell, and he smiles just to try for something easy and controlled but — he’s bleeding. It stings. The pain buzzes through his entire leg and he winces. 

“Oh, shit. That’s bad,” Morgan blurts.

“No, I’m good,” Tyson insists, stupidly. “I’ll walk it off. Whatever.” 

Everyone’s had a scraped knee. 

Tyson stands up and feels it give underneath him.

Morgan doesn’t give him a second more to disagree before she runs off towards her house, calling, “first aid kit, we got one! Hold on, don’t die!” 

Tyson sits on the curb trying not to touch his knee, because infection is still a possibility. It takes a while before he hears Morgan coming back and she’s tugging JT along with her. 

She’s speaking rapidly and Tyson isn’t close enough to catch all of it but he hears bits and pieces of, “idiot for not watching where he’s going,” and, “it looks like he’s gonna bleed out,” and — 

“Okay, let me take a look,” JT cuts in, and crouches down in front of Tyson. “Hey, buddy, I’m just gonna clean this up, okay? It might pinch.” 

“I know how rubbing alcohol works,” Tyson says. He can’t meet JT’s eyes when he does it.

JT nods his head, slow. It’s calm, like he’s used to dealing with bratty kids, and Tyson hates the thought of that. Hates thinking that he’s just a snot-nosed kid to JT. 

Then it’s a cotton pad to his knee, and a bandaid, and JT telling him, “don’t pick it when it scabs,” and Tyson feels hopeless. 

He meets JT’s eyes just once. When he’s getting back on his feet, and Tyson isn’t sure what it is that sweeps the air out of his lungs. He knows it isn’t the pain, he’s dealt with pain. It could be anything else. 

But he’s old enough to admit to himself that the answer isn’t hard to find. Not unless he makes it difficult. 

-

“Do you ever think about how actually stupid you are,” Morgan says, waving at his knee. They’re sitting out on the front steps of his house, both of them have a glass of lemonade. It’s still too cold for that. 

Tyson avoids that completely just to ask, “how old is JT?” 

Morgan blinks at him. “Why.” 

Tyson shrugs uselessly. 

She says, “eighteen,” and quickly tacks on, “he can’t buy us booze yet, if that’s what you’re trying for.” She crosses her arms, and it’s enough to make Tyson feel bad. 

He decides to cling to her reasoning, just to play it safe. “Oh,” he says. “Okay. Sorry.” 

The lemonade clinks as he picks it up. His leg aches.

-

There’s a scar on his knee now. 

You can see it when he wears shorts or jeans with rips scattered across the denim. 

Nobody ever asks. Everyone’s got their scars. Tyson just hates this one. 

-

He gets his license when he’s a few months from seventeen. He doesn’t actually have a car yet, his mother doesn’t even hint at buying him one, but she lets him use hers for late night runs to the convenience store between him and his sister.

Morgan will tag along sometimes. She pays for the snacks in exchange for the free trip. They’ve got a system. 

“JT’s kind of a health nut with this stuff,” she says, stealing a chip from the bag Tyson’s got propped in the cup holder. “If I ask him for snacks he’ll give me, like. One singular kale chip and call it a five course meal or something.” 

Tyson huffs out a laugh and he hates how airy it comes out. Morgan gives him a side-eye. 

“You taking a road trip this summer or are you still too scared to drive on the highway?” 

“I _just_ got my license,” he protests.

Morgan scoffs. “I knew it.” 

-

He turns seventeen, then eighteen, and Morgan stops playing hockey out on the street. Tyson does, too. 

It’s hard to balance everything out. He was on his high school team, but he graduates and. College hockey feels far, far away. 

“You got any plans yet?” Morgan asks, staring up at the ceiling. “Because I feel like the only reasonable thing to do after high school is a gap year, right? Clear your head.” 

Tyson doesn’t want to ask, but. He wonders about JT. He wants to ask him for advice, thinks he could listen to him talk for hours. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and just. Tries not to feel. 

“No,” he says. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Morgan says simply. She gives him this look, it’s almost comforting. “No, dude, take your time.” 

“Yeah. Alright,” Tyson says.

He has time. He has lots of time.

-

He buys a car. His mom cries and calls him her baby boy and Tyson huffs and pretends he hates the attention. 

JT catches him one morning and he smiles and waves. “New ride?” He asks. 

Tyson nods, but he’s staring. JT’s hair is wet, pushed back. There’s one strand dangling over his forehead. His face is flushed. It’s sweat, it’s definitely sweat. 

He still has a hard time processing the fact that JT is fucking _real_. God. 

“Just a little old thing I’ve been saving up for,” he tries, because modesty objectively sounds like a good approach. “You like it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s not bad, don’t be so humble,” JT says, and he’s crossing the lawn to meet him on his driveway. “You name it yet?” 

Tyson shakes his head, but he’s not looking at the car anymore. He blurts, “were you just on a run?” 

JT raises his eyebrows at him. “Got back, actually.” He pauses for a moment, and then laughs like he’s embarrassed. “I probably stink, my bad, man.” 

“No, it’s fine, it’s —“ Tyson doesn’t get how he can grow up solidly speaking a language and suddenly forget it all when he’s within a few feet of JT. His cheeks are pinched pink. He’s beautiful. “You’re all good.” 

“Alright,” JT says, and his face breaks out into this pleased smile. He pats the hood of the car. “You headed out?” 

Tyson shakes his head, but then he thinks about it for a moment. He shrugs instead. “Just groceries. No rush.”

“Helping out your mom?” JT asks. Tyson catches his eyes and they’re the softest thing in the world right in that moment. 

Fuck that. Seriously, fuck him. 

“Yeah. I just. I wanna do what I can,” he tells him, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “I got time, though. If, uh, you do.” 

JT nods. It’s not sharp. It’s calm and easy and carefree, like every other part of him. “I mean, yeah. Tell me a little more about this thing, then.”

Tyson smiles.

-

He takes JT for a drive once, because Tyson insists on it, and JT goes along as easy as ever. 

He says, “shit, this is really smooth,” and Tyson just tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the road. 

He can still feel JT’s gaze on him. He feels it like a hot brand on the side of his neck and he fails over and over on keeping his focus pinned to the road.

-

Tyson’s learnt at this point that he constantly just makes things difficult for himself.

-

He’s carried around that fuzzy feeling in his chest for years. That unsettling warmth in his chest that crackles to life whenever it shouldn’t, that whisper of affection, that something-something that throws him off kilter whenever it gets the chance. 

The first time it really bursts into something big is when the Comphers throw a fourth of July barbecue and he hangs around the grill with JT for most of it, chatting about cars and hockey and college. 

Every time JT meets his eyes, that warmth in his chest blooms. 

It blooms and blooms and blooms and Tyson thinks he might have a flower growing in his lungs because that’s just how hard it gets to breathe when he’s around JT. 

-

JT grills up hot dogs for the both of them and Tyson‘s a tried and true idiot teenager, it’s hard to watch him eat one without his stomach flip-flopping all over the place. 

-

JT was. An inappropriate childhood crush. That’s what Tyson admits to himself while staring down his bedroom ceiling. And crush is a silly word, it always has been, but Tyson can still feel it heavy on his shoulders. It’s still there, still present, still. 

It doesn’t feel light-hearted and breezy, it feels like guilt and shame and.

He wants to throw something because whatever he does, whatever he tries, it keeps clawing away at him and he just doesn’t _get it_.

-

JT moves out. 

That’s what Tyson’s expects when he catches him loading cardboard boxes into the back of his truck, at least. He doesn’t say anything, but when JT straightens out to push his hair out of his face, he sees him. 

It’s always like this. Always by chance. 

Tyson could just walk away from it, because he’s got things to do. Instead, he says, “going somewhere?” 

JT shrugs. “You could say that. Got a new place further downtown, about time I got out of everyone’s hair.” He’s smiling when he says it, but Tyson can still feel his stomach sink down to his feet.

In a moment of vulnerability he lets himself admit, “I’ll miss you around here.” He doesn’t tack on a, “buddy,” or, “man,” and it’s all too honest on his own.

Tyson bites his tongue. 

“You can always come by and visit. You’re a big boy, Tys, got a car to yourself and everything, hey?” JT says, and something about the way the nickname rolls off his tongue, how _teasing_ he sounds, sends Tyson’s heart hammering against his ribs. 

“Oh,” he says, quietly. “That’s an invitation?” 

“You can always check out the place, yeah. It’s an invitation.” 

-

The first time Tyson rides in JT’s truck is when they’re driving down to his apartment together. It’s. Warm, friendly, comforting. 

JT plays these mellow tunes on the radio and Tyson leans back in his seat to listen to him talk excitedly about his place. How excited he is to get it all to himself. How it’ll be fantastic to get some peace and quiet. 

Tyson looks over and smiles before he can help it. He says, “You’ve got a packed house back home, I bet it’ll be nice.” 

“Yeah,” JT says, tapping his fingers against the wheel in a quick little beat. “I’m excited for you to see it, too, y’know. It’s a great place. Nice view. Try not to get too jealous.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’ll watch for that.” 

-

JT’s apartment is clean and not all that big, but it feels homely. The living room is already set up, but a few of the other rooms hold nothing but cardboard boxes labelled with messy sharpie. One of the boxes has two misspellings of _kitchen_ scratched out and Tyson tries not to smile like a complete idiot. 

It’s a warm space with just the perfect view of the city from above, and when Tyson looks out the window he can see little specks of cars and people and the buildings next to them are still huge, but he feels so very high up. 

“Like it?” JT asks, standing next to him, and Tyson immediately tells him, “it’s amazing,” because he has no self-restraint.

-

The first thing he sees is Morgan’s skeptical face when JT drops him off back home. She’s sitting on the steps outside her place, just like they both would after shooting around on busted old hockey nets, and she presses her lips into a thin line.

“You’re friends with JT now?” She calls, right as the truck drives off, and Tyson feels heat set in all across his face.

“I,” he starts, and snaps his mouth shut. “No,” he says.

“Doesn’t really look like that.” 

“You’re mad?” Tyson asks, and he crosses his arms at her. “C’mon, you can’t just — we’ve just been talking and. It’s friendly. He’s cool.” 

“I’m not _mad_ ,” she says, sounding exhausted. “I’m just. Very wary of your sudden interest in my brother.” 

Tyson blinks at her. “He’s a chill guy.” 

“I bet you’d think that,” she says, and gets up onto her feet. “Don’t be gross.” 

“Oh, my god. Stop it. Seriously.”

Morgan shakes her head at him. “Awful, just terrible. Kids live here.” 

Tyson doesn’t think he’s ever unlocked the door to his place faster than he does right there.

-

“JT came out. A while ago,” Morgan says. 

Tyson looks over at her. She looks serious. 

“You didn’t ask, but I thought I should tell you,” she adds quickly. “If you have a problem with it, you can eat dirt, but. I thought you’d wanna know.” 

Tyson isn’t sure what to say, how to move on from that, how to tell her thank you, or add something helpful to that. So, he just looks down. At his hands, the scar on his knee. 

“Thanks. For telling me,” he says, and it’s too quiet between them, but Morgan knocks their shoulders together anyways. 

-

It’s not late but it’s not early either, when Tyson finds himself outside of JT’s apartment. He stares down at his phone for just a moment. Considering, considering, considering. 

_can u buzz me in?_ he texts him, and watches each of the three little dots fade in and out of his phone.

_in??? u mean into my apartment??_

_yeah. sorry 4 coming unannounced_

There’s a pause. Then, JT types, _no problem give me a minute_

-

“Hey, is something wrong?” JT asks, the second he opens the door. Tyson barely even gets a second to process his face before the wave of concern washes over him, and he suddenly feels guilty. Guilty for worrying JT, for causing a fuss.

“Everything’s fine. Really.” 

“Then, why —“

“I need you to tell me something,” Tyson says, and JT laughs a little.

“And you couldn’t call? Or text? It isn’t a short drive over, Tys. You should be at home,” JT tells him, and he pulls the door open just a little further. He lets Tyson in and. His apartment looks a lot better. Even from just the foyer, it’s still clean, still tidy, but it’s a home. 

“I can think for myself,” Tyson tells him, frowning. “I’m not a kid anymore. I know that’s all I’ve ever been to you, but.” 

JT sighs and drags a hand through his hair. The door clicks shut. “Tyson, what are you doing here?” 

Tyson blows out a breath.

“Morgan said you’re out. You’re. Are you?” He asks. 

“You’re kidding.” JT pushes his brows together. “Yeah. Does it matter?” 

Tyson can feel his hands trembling, his heart quivering in his chest. He’s dizzy, he’s hot, everything is weird and he feels too big in his own skin. 

Tyson just.

He just —

“I’m gay,” he says.

-

It’s not the first time he’s said it. He told his mom he’s bi, his sister knows it’s a lie, but that’s as far as its gone. 

Tyson is never going to get used to how the words feel in his mouth, how each time they’ve left his lips he’s felt just that much freer. Like it’s a golden ticket to freedom, like each time he’s just that much closer to really living. 

JT sat him down at his couch. It’s brand new and leather and Tyson sinks right into it. 

“Okay,” JT says. They’ve ran through this a million times already. “You’re sure? You — your family knows.” 

“They know.” 

JT sucks in his bottom lip and Tyson watches and watches and he _knows_ JT sees him looking. He knows everytime JT’s ever caught him looking is just now catching up to him. How it all suddenly makes sense. 

“Oh,” JT says, and glances over.

Tyson nods. “Yeah.” 

-

They kiss. Once. In JT’s warm, warm apartment against the brand new leather couch in his brand new living room and it’s all so suffocating. 

Kissing JT feels good. It feels right. It feels — like something Tyson hasn’t ever felt, not really. 

He likes it. He likes it and he wants more of it, but JT pulls back. He puts a hand on Tyson’s chest, and he says, “I want you to go home and think about this, okay? I just. I want you to sleep on it.”

“I’m not stupid. I can make a decision now,” Tyson says, and he wants to press back in, but JT’s hand stays the lightest pressure on his chest. He wonders if he can feel his heartbeat. 

“You’re not stupid,” JT says. “I know. I just. Do this for me. This once. Can you do that?” 

Tyson squeezes his eyes shut and swallows his pride. It’s difficult. But Tyson can do difficult. 

“Okay,” he says.

-

He texts JT in the morning. He says, _can i come over?_

_yeah_ , JT sends a few moments later, _you can come over :)_

-

JT buzzes Tyson in. He lets him into his apartment. And Tyson shuts the door behind them before pressing into his space. 

He asks, “is this okay?” His hands are curled into the fabric of JT’s shirt and his mouth is inches from his. His stomach swirls with excitement. 

“Yeah,” JT breathes out. “Yeah, it’s okay.” 

Tyson kisses him. He kisses him and he kisses him and every part of JT that he gets, even if it doesn’t progress much farther than a high school makeout, he cherishes. 

His hands drifting over his skin, the way JT’s lips are warm on his neck, the silent bites and nips and everything that makes his heart jump into his throat. 

Tyson gets in his lap and he doesn’t think about anything other than the way JT’s skin feels against his. And it’s good, it’s better than he’d ever let himself imagine. 

They fall together easy and Tyson thinks he could spend the rest of the day just breathing him in.


End file.
